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Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover. -- Mark Twain

a promise

I used to write about nature and gardens and cows and poetry, and aside from the poetry post every once in a while, this blog has definitely become more library centric. My bro A3 said I need to write more about what we've seen in the Cleveland area, things we like and would recommend to others. So, I promise to do that more soon. Going to be around Cleveland and Shaker Heights this weekend, so hopefully I come back with a good story or two. I promise.

But, until then, this reminded me of my life a million years ago:

"Dave Lilly"There's a brook on the side of Greylock that usedto be full of trout,But there's nothing there now but minnows; they say it is all fishedout.I fished there many a Summer day some twenty years ago,And I never quit without getting a mess of a dozen or so.There was a man, Dave Lilly, who lived on the NorthAdams road,And he spent all his time fishing, while his neighbors reaped andsowed.He was the luckiest fisherman in the Berkshire hills, I think.And when he didn't go fishing he'd sit in the tavern and drink.Well, Dave is dead and buried and nobody caresvery much;They have no use in Greylock for drunkards and loafers and such.But I always liked Dave Lilly, he was pleasant as you could wish;He was shiftless and good-for-nothing, but he certainly could fish.The other night I was walking up the hill fromWilliamstownAnd I came to the brook I mentioned,and I stopped on the bridge and sat down.I looked at the blackened water with its little flecks of whiteAnd I heard it ripple and whisper in the still of the Summer night.And after I'd been there a minute it seemed tome I could feelThe presence of someone near me, and I heard the hum of a reel.And the water was churned and broken, and something was broughtto landBy a twist and flirt of a shadowy rod in a deft and shadowy hand.I scrambled down to the brookside and hunted allabout;There wasn't a sign of a fisherman; there wasn't a sign of a trout.But I heard somebody chuckle behind the hollow oakAnd I got a whiff of tobacco like Lilly used to smoke.It's fifteen years, they tell me, since anyonefished that brook;And there's nothing in it but minnows that nibble the bait off yourhook.But before the sun has risen and after the moon has setI know that it's full of ghostly trout for Lilly's ghost to get.I guess I'll go to the tavern and get a bottleof ryeAnd leave it down by the hollow oak, where Lilly's ghost went by.I meant to go up on the hillside and try to find his graveAnd put some flowers on it -- but this will be better for Dave.--Joyce Kilmer

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I am a Librarian and the Director at a small public library. I write about what I love: books, travel, food, gardening, farms. I am the loudest person in the library, so no shushing, ok? Please respect my site. All things here are copyrighted by the Monster
Librarian (c).